Your Character's Name: Robert Winston
I’ve heard stories where people would keep dogs as pets. Oh, I’m sure some people still do, but for the rest of us, it’s safer to stay away from from them. It doesn’t take long for a friendly pet to transform into ravening beast when the food gets low.
When I and one of my companions heard the distant baying of a pack, I saw the shredded corpse of my closest friend under a furry mound smeared in his blood flash before my eyes. I tapped Ian, Rio and Claire on the shoulder and pointed to a cluster of half collapsed walls. With the image of a still quivering pile of meat in my head, we did the most sensible thing. We hid. Not glamourous? This pack sounded a lot bigger than the one that took my friend.
One of the first skills you learn out here in the wasteland is how to hide, how to disappear into the rubble, that’s why the majority of people wear dull, drab looking clothing. Camouflage. That’s rule number one. It worked well enough here, though I doubt that would have helped us had they been upwind.
We waited for a few long moments after their barks and growls had faded before we left cover. No sense in temping fate, anymore than we have to anyway. We tempt her just by living. In that spirit, we didn’t stand around debating whether or not we wanted to scavenge the area before we moved on. That’s rule number two. We just headed uphill for our destination; a thoroughly looted old supermarket which supposedly had an old laptop somewhere inside.
The laptop contained a number of documents, including diagrams for a power plant the settlement wanted to get running again, information on the New Bottsford suicide bombing and a cryptic note talking about Claire’s parents. Which is why we were going after the laptop when the original courier was killed by Raiders. Of course, nothing is ever easy, so before we left, we got word that the MPD had killed all the Raiders. No word on if they had the laptop or not. Best if we started at the laptop’s last known location.
The market had been gone over so many times, that it had become the perfect place to stash things. Three of us went inside. Claire stayed outside to keep watch. That’s rule number three. I took one side of the debris-laden floor, and my companion took the other.
We didn’t find the laptop. Which means that either all the Raiders weren’t killed, or the MPD had it. Neither option was good. Shit.
On the upside, I found a scythe that was stashed recently, not a speck of rust on it. I gave it a twirl to get a feel for it. Nice. I tied an old cord I had to it and slung it over my shoulder for safe keeping. Never leave a weapon behind. That’s rule number four.
I started to root through more debris when I heard a quickly muffled cry from outside. Claire. I pulled my taser and went to the front, picking my steps carefully, making no noise. I didn’t see anyone else around. I don’t think anyone else heard. No matter. I saw the man, a dirty, greasy man clad in leather with an elaborate mohawk. A Raider. He had Claire from behind, with his back to the inside of the market. I just shook my head. The only reason these hedonistic bastards survived was sheer numbers. They didn’t think beyond the moment and what pleasure they could derive.
I brought the taser up, and the nitro round hit him in the back, almost as fast as I could pull the trigger. I heard a sharp “nngh!” and he fell to the ground, leaving a streamer of blood as he bit his tongue in half. Claire tumbled down with him, struggling to get free.
I hurried over, checked the Raider. I had the power on the taser high enough that it killed him. I pulled a badly maintained .45 from the man’s belt, along with the knife he had apparently been holding to Claire’s throat. I held out a hand to her. “You okay?”
She nodded, a bit shaken. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Here, hold on to this.” I gave her the Raider’s knife. She nodded, then tucked it away.
The rest of our group had emerged from the old store, both found treasures of their own, but no laptop. I shook my head. Dammit. We’d need to proceed carefully, but I have a contact in the MPD. As long as he doesn’t hold a grudge.
“Let’s go. I think we need to talk to the ‘authorities’ about that laptop…”
I’ve heard stories where people would keep dogs as pets. Oh, I’m sure some people still do, but for the rest of us, it’s safer to stay away from from them. It doesn’t take long for a friendly pet to transform into ravening beast when the food gets low.
When I and one of my companions heard the distant baying of a pack, I saw the shredded corpse of my closest friend under a furry mound smeared in his blood flash before my eyes. I tapped Ian, Rio and Claire on the shoulder and pointed to a cluster of half collapsed walls. With the image of a still quivering pile of meat in my head, we did the most sensible thing. We hid. Not glamourous? This pack sounded a lot bigger than the one that took my friend.
One of the first skills you learn out here in the wasteland is how to hide, how to disappear into the rubble, that’s why the majority of people wear dull, drab looking clothing. Camouflage. That’s rule number one. It worked well enough here, though I doubt that would have helped us had they been upwind.
We waited for a few long moments after their barks and growls had faded before we left cover. No sense in temping fate, anymore than we have to anyway. We tempt her just by living. In that spirit, we didn’t stand around debating whether or not we wanted to scavenge the area before we moved on. That’s rule number two. We just headed uphill for our destination; a thoroughly looted old supermarket which supposedly had an old laptop somewhere inside.
The laptop contained a number of documents, including diagrams for a power plant the settlement wanted to get running again, information on the New Bottsford suicide bombing and a cryptic note talking about Claire’s parents. Which is why we were going after the laptop when the original courier was killed by Raiders. Of course, nothing is ever easy, so before we left, we got word that the MPD had killed all the Raiders. No word on if they had the laptop or not. Best if we started at the laptop’s last known location.
The market had been gone over so many times, that it had become the perfect place to stash things. Three of us went inside. Claire stayed outside to keep watch. That’s rule number three. I took one side of the debris-laden floor, and my companion took the other.
We didn’t find the laptop. Which means that either all the Raiders weren’t killed, or the MPD had it. Neither option was good. Shit.
On the upside, I found a scythe that was stashed recently, not a speck of rust on it. I gave it a twirl to get a feel for it. Nice. I tied an old cord I had to it and slung it over my shoulder for safe keeping. Never leave a weapon behind. That’s rule number four.
I started to root through more debris when I heard a quickly muffled cry from outside. Claire. I pulled my taser and went to the front, picking my steps carefully, making no noise. I didn’t see anyone else around. I don’t think anyone else heard. No matter. I saw the man, a dirty, greasy man clad in leather with an elaborate mohawk. A Raider. He had Claire from behind, with his back to the inside of the market. I just shook my head. The only reason these hedonistic bastards survived was sheer numbers. They didn’t think beyond the moment and what pleasure they could derive.
I brought the taser up, and the nitro round hit him in the back, almost as fast as I could pull the trigger. I heard a sharp “nngh!” and he fell to the ground, leaving a streamer of blood as he bit his tongue in half. Claire tumbled down with him, struggling to get free.
I hurried over, checked the Raider. I had the power on the taser high enough that it killed him. I pulled a badly maintained .45 from the man’s belt, along with the knife he had apparently been holding to Claire’s throat. I held out a hand to her. “You okay?”
She nodded, a bit shaken. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Here, hold on to this.” I gave her the Raider’s knife. She nodded, then tucked it away.
The rest of our group had emerged from the old store, both found treasures of their own, but no laptop. I shook my head. Dammit. We’d need to proceed carefully, but I have a contact in the MPD. As long as he doesn’t hold a grudge.
“Let’s go. I think we need to talk to the ‘authorities’ about that laptop…”
[Next Story - Stepping Into It]